


Marks of the Past

by whatsacleverusername



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Constipation, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gallows Humor, Kinda, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mild Gore, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Scars, Trauma, it's vague though, just a clusterfuck of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: Jon and Edwin discuss scars.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Bookworm
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	Marks of the Past

His cheek propped up against Jonathan's shoulder, a hand resting on the other man's chest, Edwin revels in the closeness to his boyfriend, feeling his soft breathing and heartbeat in his chest as they simply lay together in their bed clothes, neither particularly motivated to leave the warmth they share as they hold each other in the beginnings of the morning sun. Granted it had taken almost three months into their relationship for Jonathan to be comfortable so much as sharing a bed with Edwin solely for sleeping, two more to accept cuddling just to cuddle, and another two for him to be open to such physical affections more often than not. Both found this humorous, given how quickly Jonathan adapted to their more _intimate_ moments- Edwin being purely humorous where Jonathan scolded himself- though it took time before he was comfortable occupying the same space once said moments passed. Even still, Edwin didn't push him much, letting the scientist adjust at his own comfort level. Jonathan was always very touch-and-go- no pun intended- about physical contact, no matter how benevolent. The younger man is also very self conscious of his thin, lanky, bony build, making it especially remarkable that he had retired the previous night without a shirt, the cold December air outside not much of a worry in their well insulated home.

Readjusting his chin, gently nuzzling closer against Jonathan, Edwin stretches and opens his eyes, freezing briefly in surprise. On Jonathan’s left bicep, slightly lowered, almost crater-like scars are scattered around the flesh. While they aren’t particularly red, they stand out glaringly against his otherwise ashy pale skin, the pinkish marks making Edwin grimace as he counts seven, eight, nine, stopping a few inches above the inside of his elbow.

“Jon?” he asks quietly.

Cracking open an eye, Jonathan gives him a slight _hmm_ in acknowledgement.

“When did you get those?” Edwin asks.

Looking between the faded marks on his upper arm and Edwin's eyes intently studying them, Jonathan raises an eyebrow and asks, “you didn't notice them the last time we were, er, _occupied_ in bed? Or the occasion before that? Or even before _that_? Or-”

“You usually have your shirt on!” Edwin says defensively, cheeks bright red. “I'm also, ah- Too preoccupied to… Um… You- You also usually aren't open to cuddling, so I don't have the _chance_ to notice them.”

“Alright, alright,” Jonathan says, rolling his eyes. “Quit digging yourself deeper.”

“I mean-” Edwin tries to amend. “I knew about the ones from the crows on your shoulders and back-”

“Edwin,” Jonathan warns.

“And the ones from your guardians on your lower back-” Edwin adds.

“ _Edwin_ ,” Jonathan sighs, frowning.

“And the one on your-” Edwin continues.

“I get the point,” Jonathan all but snaps.

Edwin’s apology is obvious in his shocked and concerned expression, but he falls silent and shifts his head to hide the old scars from his view. Though they both fall silent again, Jonathan can hear Edwin’s unspoken questions, sighing through his nose as he also readjusts, moving to lay more on his side.

“You’re curious, aren’t you?” he asks.

Looking up at him, Edwin nods ever so slightly, saying, “if you’re comfortable.”

Scoffing, Jonathan explains, “Gerald was rather fond of using my arm as an ashtray. I imagine he’d seen that movie Harleen made us all watch- Breakfast something- and thought that was a _grand_ idea.”

Jonathan’s grim humor evidently lost on Edwin, the inventor quietly gasps, covering his mouth. Frowning more, Jonathan reaches for his glasses and adjusts his other arm around Edwin, holding him a little closer in an attempt to comfort him, to tell him not to worry better than he could with words. Yet despite his apparent discomfort with the story behind the scars on his arm, Jonathan catches Edwin glancing at the more silver colored one stretched thin over his hollowed cheek. He watches Edwin study the feature of his skin, the interest starkly evident in his blue eyes.

“Go ahead and pick another,” Jonathan finally says.

“What?” Edwin asks, blinking in surprise.

“I know you, you’re still curious,” Jonathan explains. Playfully raising an eyebrow again, keeping the rest of his expression neutral, he adds, “I can pass on one, can’t I?”

“Well…” Just as Jonathan expected, Edwin points to the one on his left cheek, asking, “what about this one?”

“Rather boring, I’m afraid,” Jonathan says. “Only a knife fight.”

“‘ _Only a knife fight_?’” Edwin echoes incredulously.

“Nothing comparatively sensational,” Jonathan says, shrugging a shoulder.

“Oh really?” Edwin asks, challenging. Gently tapping under his jaw twice, pointing out the small scar there that stretches an inch higher up his chin, he adds, “what about _this_ one, then?”

Giving him an unimpressed look for a moment, Jonathan smirks ever so slightly and asks, “are you sure you want to know about _this_ one, you old traumatophobe?”

Hesitation briefly passes over Edwin’s expression in a small grimace, but that spark of curiosity in his eyes quickly returns to the rest of his features and he nods.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the force generated by the Bat’s grappling gun, correct?” Jonathan asks.

His face paling as the grimace returns somewhat, Edwin nods silently. He’s taken one apart before, he’s _well_ aware, and does _not_ like where Jonathan is going with this.

Chuckling, Jonathan shakes his head lightly, absently running his thumb over the start of the scar as he explains, “I can speak from experience that it’s enough to tear through one’s jaw. Almost tore it off when he pulled the damn thing back.”

“How did you even- Why would- How is it-” Edwin stammers, trying to wrap his head around the injury.

“I had the Bat cornered, and Thomas is a truly gifted surgeon,” Jonathan says simply. “Granted my stubbornness didn’t help. He had to re-do the sutures more than once given they’d leak whenever I attempted to eat or drink normally. I had to hold a napkin up to the hole in my jaw to create the suction necessary to use a straw and catch whatever leaked out. It’s amazing everything's still functional. Though- My jaw does…”

Rather than explain verbally, Jonathan stretches his jaw and moves it to the side, making a disturbing clicking sound with each movement.

“Okay, okay-” Edwin says hurriedly, stopping Jonathan with placing a hand against his cheek. Quickly trying to change the topic, he gestures to the light line on the other man’s left palm, asking, “what- What about this one?”

“Impaled with a knife,” Jonathan says. “The result of a business disagreement in my earlier career. It went all the way through.” Proving his point, he flips the hand over to point out the much more faded line on the back. “The only reason it’s not as noticeable there is I stitched it closed quick enough. Not the other side, though. You should never close a wound completely without cleaning it first. Admittedly, you also shouldn’t remove an impaled object without proper medical attention lest you bleed out, but again, I was younger then.”

Gently tracing the line on his palm, Edwin asks, “I’m assuming that’s why you can’t feel much in this hand?”

“Mhm,” Jonathan affirms. “It severed a few of the nerves. I can’t feel anything in my thumb, pointer, and middle fingers.”

“You can still feel in the last two, correct?” Edwin asks.

Nodding, Jonathan says, “I can’t complain, though. I fortunately retained full use of the hand.” Lightly chuckling again, he adds, “if anything, it’s beneficial, arthritis, occupational hazards, and all manners of other things considered.”

“Hm,” Edwin frowns, obviously not agreeing. Looking down Jonathan’s torso, he notices an indent in his skin just above his pelvis, pointing it out and asking, “what about this one?”

Sitting up some to see which he’s pointing at, Jonathan frowns slightly and says, “pass.”

His unwillingness to answer only increasing his curiosity, but not wanting to pry, Edwin indicates the darker pin points in an elliptical shape on his right hip, almost like a bite mark, asking, “this one?”

“Pass,” Jonathan says a little quicker than before, a hardly there pink in his cheeks as his frown deepens.

Edwin smirks and chuckles a little, saying, “likely for the best…”

“It wasn’t as fun an experience as your prurient mind assumes,” Jonathan scoffs.

“Of course not,” Edwin teases.

“It wasn’t,” Jonathan says.

“Someone has attacked you by biting your hip?” Edwin asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jonathan affirms in exasperation.

Playfully rolling his eyes, Edwin looks over Jonathan’s thin frame again, his attention captured by a wide, silvery stretch of scar tissue. It begins just below his pectoral, curving one way then the other over the left side of his chest, stopping an inch or so below the bottom rib, reaching towards the concave of his gut, a small dip in the middle following it lengthwise.

Gently tracing it, Edwin comments, “this one seems awfully clean compared to the others.”

“Oh, Christ.” Much to Edwin’s relief, the grumbled exclamation is annoyed and punctuated by a displeased grimace rather than uncomfortable frown. “That one’s courtesy of Strange. The old cur thought he could lure the Bat to him by kidnapping a handful of inmates to a dilapidated wing of Arkham. A month and a half proved otherwise, and he decided to take his vexation out on his captives. He’d evidently been reading up on extremely dated surgical practices, thinking it _great_ fun to cut us open and sew us back together. Sans sedation of any sort, of course. I’m genuinely surprised he had the forethought to sanitize the scalpel and suture needle. The Bat chose the midst of one of these ‘demonstrations’ to come crashing through the ancient observatory window, causing Strange’s already unsteady hand to drop the scalpel mid incision, leaving it in me whilst being beaten to a pulp. The great reprobate didn’t even have the common decency to free me from the examination table once he was through with Strange, leaving me for hours until the orderlies got off their asses and found me.”

“Oh dear god…” Edwin mumbles, taking his hand away.

“It was far more obnoxious than painful,” Jonathan assures.

Edwin simply nods, tracing his eyes over the mark once more before looking up at Jonathan. He begins to ask another question, but stops mid syllable when he notices the mark just behind Jonathan’s right ear. He typically covers both with his hair, but the way he’s laying puts the raised line of darkened skin in clear view, stretching up to disappear into the brown waves. Without thinking, Edwin leans closer and reaches a hand up to touch a finger to the scar, Jonathan tensing slightly but staying otherwise still as the inventor traces it, following the curve of his ear and stopping just at the tip.

“I’ve always wondered about this one,” Edwin says, both thinking aloud and indirectly inquiring about the odd feature.

Jonathan doesn’t reply, or even acknowledge Edwin in any way. Sitting back again, he immediately notices that telltale frown on the scientist’s face, that faraway look in his eyes, staring off at something else not entirely there and refusing to make contact.

Pulling his hand down to his cheek to gently turn his head, his eyes still avoiding him, Edwin asks, “Jon?”

“Bolton.” The answer is whispered, hardly audible as Jonathan’s lips barely move to form the name, as if terrified to even speak it.

The remembrance of what Jonathan had told him about the ex-head of security’s apparent malicious fascination with him and the other inmates washes over Edwin with dread, their fellow rogues having confirmed the beyond abusive officer targeted Jonathan especially not easing that feeling at all. 

Without further prompting, interrupting Edwin’s attempt to comfort him, Jonathan says, “he slammed my head against a table until it bled. He wouldn’t let the orderlies take me to the infirmary. He- He said I didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Edwin says quietly, gently stroking his cheek.

“He said- He said no one would love a scarred up freak like me,” Jonathan continues, his voice beginning to shake. “He- He said I was stuck with- Only he would u-use me for-”

“I grasp your meaning,” Edwin says hastily. Jonathan flinching away from his somewhat loud interruption, he lowers his voice again, carefully saying, “I apologize, I…”

Mumbling something that sounds like an unnecessary apology, Jonathan turns his head away, pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes. Feeling his heart sinking in his chest, Edwin lets Jonathan move away as he sees fit, watching him sadly as he sits up on his side of the bed, hanging his head and resting his arms on his knees. Remaining silent and still, Edwin looks at him, trying to gauge whether it would be a good idea to try comforting him or not. Making a decision, Edwin crawls over to Jonathan, softly touching his hand to draw his attention to him.

“He was wrong,” he says.

“Hm?” Jonathan quietly asks.

“ _I_ love you,” Edwin says, lacing their fingers together. “Scars and all.”

He looks at the older man for a moment, trying to maintain his composure, before mumbling, “I… You…”

“I know you do,” Edwin assures, bringing Jonathan’s hand up to kiss his palm. “I wasn’t worried about that. I need _you_ to know _I_ love you as well. So very, very much.”

Jonathan tries again to speak, but his voice doesn’t cooperate, cracking before he can get even a word out. His resolve breaking, he leans against Edwin, wrapping an arm around him and clinging tightly, letting him do the same as he tries to calm himself again. It’s startling to see Jonathan so emotionally vulnerable, sparking a torrent of worries in his mind, but Edwin tries his best not to react in any way that might further upset him. Carefully moving his hand, avoiding the scar at the back of Jonathan’s head, Edwin soothingly runs his fingers through his hair, holding him as his breathing gradually slows again, gently whispering to him and kissing his forehead.

After a moment, once Jonathan has calmed, Edwin separates from him briefly, still holding his hand, retrieving his shirt from the floor and handing it to him. The taller man wastes no time pulling it on to cover himself, letting go of his hand and mumbling a _thank you_ as he fixes the bottom of the shirt over the hem of his pants. Offering his hand again, he lets Jonathan take it in his own rather than reach for him, knowing full well he may not want to be touched now. Much to Edwin’s relief, he does entwine their fingers once more, turning to lean his body against Edwin’s and duck his head as if to hide himself from any unseen voyeur. Putting his arm around him again, Edwin resumes his soothing motions, feeling Jonathan sigh against his neck as the stiffness gradually leaves him and he relaxes under his touch.

After a long stretch of silence spanning more than a few minutes, Jonathan mumbles, “perhaps show and tell was a bad idea…”

Unable to hold in a snort, Jonathan lightly exhaling a small laugh, Edwin says, “you did warn me.”

“I did,” Jonathan agrees, shifting somewhat to better rest his head against Edwin’s shoulder.

“You did,” Edwin repeats. “…Are you alright?”

Jonathan doesn’t answer immediately, a slight scratch in his voice as he simply says, “tired.”

Understanding that to be the indicator of his emotional vulnerability coming to a close, the man being stunted in that regard and no doubt feeling overwhelmed, Edwin nods and moves so as to let Jonathan get back under the covers, neglecting to mention the sun had only just finished rising. He lays down next to him, again letting him choose to touch if he likes, fixing the covers over both of them as Jonathan extends a hand to loosely grip Edwin’s upper arm. He tries not to, but the inventor can’t help internally scolding himself for causing this, letting his impulses get the best of him at the worst of times yet again. Sighing, he reaches his free hand over to his bedside table to retrieve his glasses and the book placed upon it, opening it and slipping out the laminate strip to begin reading, an attempt to distract his worries. _He’s_ distracted, however, by Jonathan stretching to place his glasses on the other table, rolling back over to lay his head against Edwin’s shoulder.

Glancing down at him, finding him looking back at him, Edwin smiles slightly and asks, “would you like me to read to you?”

Jonathan nods, moving closer under the covers. Raising his arm to accommodate his partner, Edwin clears his throat before beginning to read aloud, knowing Jonathan rarely cares if he starts in the middle of a story. This will help take both their minds off things, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> These are only a handful of Jon's scars, and a portion of their backstories. There are too many to cohesively put in one story.


End file.
